Table Of ContentKropotkin’s Ideas and the International Anarchist
Movement in the 1920s and 1930s
by Vadim Damier
Peter Alekseyevich Kropotkin was not the “founder” of the ideological doctrine of an-
archist communism, but by rights is considered one of its originators. His authority as
a thinker among his contemporaries in the anarchist movement (discounting the “in-
dividualists,” who clearly fell outside the mainstream) was virtually indisputable. As
the historian of anarchism Max Nettlau noted in this connection, Kropotkin’s ideas in
those years were “seldom criticized, seldom questioned”; “. . . the opinions of Kropot-
kin seemed to many to be truths not subject to doubt, while others considered it inap-
propriate to raise questions which might weaken the enormous influence which Kro-
potkin’s personality, talent, and dedication rendered to their cause.”1
Strange as it may seem, it was Kropotkin himself who delivered the first blow to his
own authority, when he supported participation in the First World War on the side of
the Entente and, together with a number of other well-known anarchists, signed the
corresponding “Declaration of the Sixteen.” This departure from the traditional ideas
of internationalism and anti-militarism – ideas which he had formerly propagandized
zealously – caused disarray among many participants of the movement. Considering
such a volte-face to be a betrayal, they tried to purge Kropotkin’s doctrine of Kropot-
kin himself. Typical in this connection are the declarations of Russian emigrant-
anarchists in 1916. The Paris group announced that “from now on we can not consider
the signers of the ‘Declaration’ our comrades in the struggle, for even if they acted un-
intentionally, the reality is that they are ENEMIES OF THE WORKERS’ CAUSE, and
we must treat them inflexibly as such.” Representatives of the Geneva group, mention-
ing Kropotkin by name, proclaimed: “Those who call upon people to take part in the
War can be neither anarchists nor anti-militarists. . . They have ripped out the soul of
anarchism and cast it among the devotees of militarism to be torn to pieces. As for us,
we shall remain at our old post.”2
Characteristically, the respect for Kropotkin in anarchist circles was so great that he
was essentially forgiven for his “apostasy” (in contrast to another prominent libertari-
an who signed the Manifesto in support of the War – Jean Grave) and for his “demo-
cratic illusions” of 1917– 1918. For example, Alexander Berkman, after visiting the veter-
an of the movement in 1920, included in his diary notes about the meeting not word
about Kropotkin’s former “sins,” then noted: “The stamp of the idealist lay so strikingly
upon him that the spirituality of his personality was experienced in an almost physical
sense.”3
1
But time passed, and the world of the 1920s and 1930s was already quite different from
the pre-War world. The terrible experiences of the “last” (as contemporaries liked to
think of it and as was confirmed by the victors) war not only demonstrated a shocking
level of human barbarism and contempt for life, but clearly showed how the achieve-
ments of science and technology could be used for killing and destruction. In the most
recent decades the so-called “rationalization” of production had been developed, re-
sulting in the widespread introduction of the assembly line and Taylorist methods in
the organization of labour (and control over it). Turning the worker into the append-
age of a machine, a living automaton (recall Charlie Chaplin’s remarkable film Mod-
ern Times with its image of a small man lying on a huge gear!), this technical restruc-
turing heralded a new role for science and technology. In the 19th century they had
served as a synonym for liberation; now they began to be perceived as yet another,
more refined, form of slavery and domination. And although no one, even in a night-
mare, could imagine the monstrous factory of industrialized mass murder which was
Auschwitz, the first anxious voices sounded. “If the rationalization of labour continues
in its present form for another 50 years, any hope for socialism will disappear,” warned
the German anarcho-syndicalist Rudolph Rocker.4
These tendencies called into question the very notion of “scientific anarchism” pro-
moted by Kropotkin. As is well known, this sage tried to create a unified and non-
contradictory conception of the universe from which would follow the ideological and
political doctrine of anarchism. This conception was based on positivistic logic, alt-
hough Kropotkin in some respects turned positivism upside down. He shared notions
about common features of the development of nature and society typical of positivists
of the 19th century. But while the latter usually envisaged the laws of nature acting on
society, the anarchist thinker tried to apply to nature (including inanimate nature),
the social principles of harmony and self-organization which he wished to see triumph
in human society.5 The problem was not even whether such a view of nature could be
justified (many contemporary scholars are willing to acknowledge its correctness, at
least in part). The problem was in the positivist approach itself, with its presumption
of “positive knowledge,” “empirical givens,” and the tendencies contained in them,
which were regarded almost as having the status of the phenomena of the natural sci-
ences. It was merely necessary to clear the way and these tendencies would prevail in
just the same manner as the laws of nature. But what if the “empirical givens” turned
out to be more complicated and contradictory? What if they included not only the as-
sumed tendencies, but also very different ones? Which tendencies would gain the up-
per hand? Is pure science able to explain and predict this? And is it possible to submit
human life, human feelings, and human freedom to cold, scientific reason, operating
with the precision and regularity of a machine? Is this not the death of ethics, rather
than its affirmation?6
2
A similar critique of positivism and its associated “given facts” with their scientific
regularity was developed within the framework of Marxist thought by the social phi-
losophy of the Frankfurt School.7 Within anarchism, this critique put an end to at-
tempts to construct an integral anarchist philosophy and the framework of a “scientific
anarchism.” The prominent anarchist Errico Malatesta in the 1920s, albeit not entirely
fairly, criticized Kropotkin for “mechanism” and trying to reduce the liberation of
mankind to natural determinism, warning that “science is a weapon which can serve
either for good or evil; but science itself is completely oblivious to the concepts of
good and evil.” Science “comes to a halt where fatalism ends and freedom begins.”
That’s why it makes no sense to “introduce science where it doesn’t belong”; the anar-
chist ideal – human freedom, ethics, solidarity – has its source not in scientific deter-
minism, but in the free will of people.8
However the main battles didn’t take place over Kropotkin’s philosophical views. They
were centred around that part of his doctrine which dealt with anarchist revolution
and the future society of anarchist communism. As Rudolf Rocker [secretary of the an-
archo-syndicalist International Association of Workers (IWA)] noted, “the War and
the period of revolution in Russia and Central Europe posed a whole series of new
problems which had either not been foreseen or which had been regarded as hopefully
avoidable.”9
Lively discussions occurred in anarchist publications, conferences were held, and
thorny questions were actively discussed inside libertarian organizations, at congress-
es of the IWA, etc.
In the words of the researcher of the history of anarchism G. Manfredonia, a unique
“anarchist revisionism” developed during this period.10
A lively discussion was precipitated in the first instance by the experience of the Rus-
sian Revolution (1917–1921) and the world-wide revolutionary wave of 1918–1923. Alt-
hough the labouring masses of Russia displayed a great desire and propensity for self-
organization and self-management, and while their demands were frequently close to
the anarchist ones, the anarchists on the whole did not succeed in steering the course
of events into following the course of their own “program.” In a number of other coun-
tries, supporters of libertarian ideas managed to leave their own stamp on events (in
Spain, Italy, Argentina, Brazil and Peru they had a decisive effect), but they were nev-
ertheless unable to attain victory. Why did authoritarian socialists triumph in Russia,
installing a system of state capitalism? Why did the revolutionary offensive run out of
steam across the entire globe? The anarchist movement had to find answers to these
questions.
Kropotkin himself in his last years of life energetically warned his comrades, saying
that the Bolsheviks had showed “how not to make a revolution.”11 In remarks written
3
for the post-revolutionary publication of The Conquest of Bread, he noted in par-
ticular: “Now, when we see from experience how difficult it is to ‘create’ without prior
careful planning, based on the study of social life, of what and how we want to create,
it must be said that ‘creating, I destroy!’”12 In other words, this was an acknowledge-
ment that a spontaneous eruption of the masses was insufficient. The anarchist
movement found itself unprepared for revolution. At the moment the social upheaval
began, it was unable to spread itself widely enough to render an influence on the
mood and actions of sufficiently broad layers of the population. Finally, the movement
was lacking in constructive, creative potential. Such a conclusion, which was shared by
a majority of anarchists in the 1920s, leads to one of two strategies: either libertarians
must be better prepared for the coming revolutionary battles (but how?), or they must
assume that when the next revolution breaks out, they will remain in a minority, co-
existing with other ideological-political forces and tendencies.
One of the answers was that anarchists should prepare themselves, above all, in an or-
ganizational sense. In 1926 the “Group of Russian Anarchists Abroad,” led by Peter
Arshinov and Nestor Makhno, came out with the draft program “Organizational Plat-
form of the General Union of Anarchists.” The authors of this document saw the cause
of the unpreparedness of anarchists for revolution in their dispersal in individual
groups and tendencies, and in the absence among them of clear principles and organi-
zational methods. They proposed to create a unified anarchist organization on the ba-
sis of a common program – the General Union of Anarchists. Such an organization had
to possess a single ideology and a single set of tactics and build itself according to the
principle of collective responsibility. Consequently, the organs of the Union would al-
ready have not only technical and coordinating functions (as understood in an anar-
chist sense), but also decision-making (directive) functions. Such a unified force would
be able, according the authors of the Platform, to play the role of an ideological avant-
garde – carrying on a struggle in mass social movements (trade unions, soviets, etc.) in
order to draw them away from the influence of other political tendencies and attain a
position of ideological hegemony. The text of the program was composed with rather
careful phrasing, but some passages indicated directly that the creators of the pro-
posed “General Union” did not intend to limit themselves to just the “ideological ori-
entation” of the masses. For example, here is what was said in the Platform about work
in the trade unions and the labour movement: “. . . the task of anarchists within the
ranks of the revolutionary labour movement can only be carried out if their efforts
there are closely connected and co-ordinated with the activity of the anarchist organi-
sation outside the syndicalist union. Put differently, we must enter the revolutionary
labour movement as an organised force, answerable to the general anarchist organisa-
tion [the General Union – V. D.] for our work inside the syndicalist unions, and receiv-
ing guidance from that organisation.”13 It’s hardly surprising that in anarchist circles
4
this draft was perceived as a plan for the creation of a centralized anarchist party
which, in essence, would engage in a struggle for power.
The concept of scattered groups, acting independently of one another, was discarded
by the end of the 19th century; this was connected, among other things, with the re-
nunciation by anarchism of the tactics of assassination and “propaganda of the deed,”
as well as with the return to work in mass movements. Anarcho-communist groups in
certain countries began to unite in federations. Kropotkin came out in favour of a re-
vival of the mass revolutionary workers’ International. “We shall create this (broad, –
V. D.) organization for the purpose of direct anti-capitalist struggle of the workers
against the employers,” he wrote to Jean Grave in 1902. “And, obviously, in the heart of
this new international alliance there will be formed a tighter alliance of people who
know one another.” “By the International I understand something big which makes an
impression on a broad spectrum of the public through its congresses, and which in-
cludes in its core, revolutionaries who are in an alliance with each other and who re-
main communists.”14 However, he did not envisage this “internal” organization as an
external organizational force, acting according to norms of centralism and centralized
discipline. Maltesta, speaking at the 1907 International Anarchist Congress, argued
that syndicalism and the classic labour movement were insufficient for revolution, and
he defended the idea of a separate organization of anarchists, united in groups, federa-
tions of groups and, ultimately, an Anarchist International. But he emphasized: “Be-
yond any doubt, this association [of anarchists, – V. D.] must grant full autonomy to
its individual members, and the federation must observe the same autonomy for its
own groups.”15
Such a position, on the whole, prevailed within the anarchist movement. That’s why
the “revisionist” ideas of the “platformists” encountered fierce objections from other
anarchists. Among those expressing negative judgments were such notable figures of
the movement as Vsevolod Voline, Maria Goldsmith, Errico Malatesta, Sebastien
Faure, Jean Grave, Max Nettlau, Diego Abad de Santillán, Miguel Jiménez, and others.
Perhaps the most acute and substantive critique was the response of the well-known
Italian anarchist Luigi Fabbri: “The scheme proposed by the Platform amounts to
nothing but equivocations: this forces one to suspect that the inspirational leadership
will turn out to be an actual dictatorship, and take the form of an anti-anarchist divi-
sion between a minority of ruling elements and a majority consisting of the ruled
masses. The masses will be completely justified in mistrusting those with pretensions
of being rulers while insisting they are doing nothing of the sort, merely aspiring to be
a ‘general staff.’”16
On the whole, the attempts of the “platformists” to convince the majority of the anar-
chist movement in their own correctness failed. In 1927 they were able to convene an
international congress, but a “General Union of Anarchists” was not forthcoming. Sub-
5
sequently, individual “platformist” groups appeared in various countries, leading to
still more disunity among libertarians.
The question of mutual relations between the mass movement and anarchist organiza-
tions was frequently raised and discussed at congresses of the IWA. The 3rd Congress
of the anarcho-syndicalist International (1928) rejected the possibility of “non-union
organizations” taking part in it, noting that only revolutionary labour unions can be
the vehicle of social revolution and the achievement of libertarian communism. This
ban included anarchist ideological groups, although the anarcho-syndicalists empha-
sized their desire to work with them. In Spain the so-called “trabazón” (“connection”)
policy had been approved from the end of the 1920s: it envisaged the creation of a dis-
tinct kind of coordination between the anarcho-syndicalist Confederación Nacional
del Trabajo (CNT) and the Federación Anarquista Ibérica (FAI).17 In France the situa-
tion was more complicated, since the majority of anarchists preferred to work not in
the syndicalist, but in the socialist or communist unions, as they were more in the na-
ture of “mass” organizations. (This corresponded to the ideas of Malatesta, expressed
by him as early as the Anarchist Congress of 1907: since the unions by themselves can
not be a revolutionary force, it’s better for libertarians to work toward “trade union
unity,” and not to create separate anarchist labour unions.) The French anarcho-
syndicalists tried to convince “non-syndicalist” libertarians to join IWA organizations
while maintaining their own groups. “Anarchism can help the anarcho-syndicalist
movement, while not replacing it,” – was the point of view of Pierre Besnard, leading
ideologue of the Confédération Générale du Travail-Syndicaliste Révolution-
naire (CGT-SR). He proposed that all anarcho-communist groups join together on a
global scale on the basis of “unity of doctrine” to create an international organization
and undertake the practice of “linking” at all levels. The anarchists should join anar-
cho-syndicalist unions and simultaneously carry on broad-based ideological and or-
ganizational work in their places of residence, preparing the ground for libertarian
communes during the revolution.18 However, the resolution of this problem was not
successful in France: by no means did all the anarchists join the anarchist federation
“linked” with the CGT-SR.
European anarcho-syndicalists assigned first-degree significance to organizing workers
and preparing them “in an efficient manner” for revolution. “The social revolution
must be prepared in detail, in order to be crowned with success,” emphasized, for ex-
ample, the Swedish anarcho-syndicalist Albert Jensen. “It’s complete nonsense to ex-
pect to improvise everything. Such a position plays into the hands of political dema-
gogues, who can use it to their advantage to take over the revolution, re-introduce po-
litical power and establish a dictatorship.”19 Such indeed happened in Russia, where
the Bolsheviks harvested the fruits of the revolution, since the masses, while under-
standing what they were fighting against, did not have a clear idea about what was to
replace the old system. As a result, “The anarchists fought, while the Bolsheviks began
6
building their own system,” stressed the Spanish activist Valeriano Orobón Fernández.
“It’s necessary to develop the constructive talents of the workers,” he argued, “Capital-
ism isn’t going to die by itself. Constructive action is more important than barricades.
Destruction isn’t the least bit creative. The second day after the revolution is the most
important – that’s when the building of the new system starts.”20
And how did the anarcho-syndicalists envisage preparing the labouring masses for
revolution? First of all, it was necessary to strengthen the anarcho-syndicalists unions
and extend their influence so that they brought together the majority of workers in
their ranks. These organs were destined to constitute the already-prepared structure
which at the moment of revolution could take the management of economic life –
production and distribution – into its own hands. “The task of revolutionary syndical-
ism,” it was said, for example, in the declaration of principles of the IWA, “assumes a
dual character: on the one hand, it carries on a daily revolutionary struggle for the im-
provement of the economic, mental, and moral condition of the workers within the
existing social system; and on the other hand, its highest goal consists in the prepara-
tion of the masses for the independent management of production and distribution
and for the taking into its hands of all spheres of social life.”21 In directives developed
by German anarcho-syndicalists in the early 1920s, at a time when, as it seemed, revo-
lution in Germany was on the agenda, it was assumed that trade unions, organized ac-
cording to the industrial principle, would be transformed into organs for management
of production, and their geographical associations and federations – into organs for
the administration of distribution and social life. In order to be able to fulfill this role,
labour unions while still under capitalism needed to engage in the study of the econ-
omy, to gather statistical data about the requirements of industry and the potentials of
production, and begin drafting plans for harmonizing these different aspects.22 The
Spanish CNT, which included hundreds of thousands of wage-workers in its ranks, re-
peatedly collected such statistics in the early 1920s and during the 1930s.
The anarcho-syndicalists proposed to study economic activity on all levels: from indi-
vidual enterprises, corporations and municipalities to worldwide phenomena. At the
local level this led to a focus on factory-plant Councils, which were to be organized by
syndicalist unions. These unions not only had to defend the interests of the workers in
conflicts with entrepreneurs and the state, but also to organize courses for workers so
that they could study production, collect information about their own workplace,
master bookkeeping functions and exchange information on a regular basis with other
Councils. By such means, the anarcho-syndicalists assumed that the workers could not
only seize their own factories, plants, institutions and service providers in the course
of a social revolution, but also manage them without too much trouble, re-orienting
production along the lines of meeting the needs of real people.23
7
The Spanish syndicalist Juan Peiró believed that there could be no talk about any sort
of revolution until industrial federations of anarcho-syndicalist unions had been creat-
ed. At the IWA congress in 1931 the French anarcho-syndicalists proposed a “Plan for
the Re-organization of International Syndicalism.” It envisaged rebuilding the interna-
tional organization from top to bottom with industrial unions which would have the
same structure for all countries: Workers’ Councils would be joined together in net-
works which would extend, first to the national level, then to international industrial
organs. These organs were to be both weapons in the struggle with capitalism (taking
into account its globalization), and the embryos of the economic system of the future.
Their tasks also included the gathering of economic and technical information,
the implementation of workers’ control over enterprises and labour mobility, and
prepar-ing workers to manage production on all levels – including internationally.24
However, many anarchists rejected this orientation towards the “organizational” mo-
ment, and considered it a “mechanization” of anarchism. While agreeing that the revo-
lution must be prepared, at the same time they emphasized ideological and psycholog-
ical preparation. At the CNT congress in 1931, the Spanish anarchist José Alberola ar-
gued: “Advocates of industrial federations are in favour of them because they have lost
faith in goals and believe only in the gears of the machine mechanism. But I say that
the machine doesn’t create forces, but rather consumes them, which is why we shall
create a mentality which resists everything tending to mechanize the personality . . .
We need an ideal capable of sooner or later destroying this capitalist machine mecha-
nism.”25
Another representative of the “radical” wing of the CNT, Juan García Oliver, declared
that preparing the revolution is a two-stage process and that “everything that can be
prepared has already been done.” What was important now was the will to carry out a
takeover.26
“In the storm of revolution, all preparations will be thrown overboard,” declared, for
example, representatives of the Argentine Regional Labour Federation (FORA) at the
IWA congress in 1931. “The revolution will create its own forms of life.” (...) We should
avoid thinking exclusively about production, and more about people; the main task is
not the organizing of an economic system, but the dissemination of anarchist ideolo-
gy.”27 Only by “creating ethical values capable of cultivating in the proletariat a grasp
of social problems which is independent of bourgeois civilization, is it possible to pro-
ceed to the creation of the indestructible foundations of an anti-capitalist and anti-
Marxist revolution, which will destroy the regime of large industry and financial, in-
dustrial, and commercial trusts,” insisted Emilio López Arango, theoretician of the
FORA.28
8
The basic approach of the Argentine worker-anarchists involved the elaboration and
revolutionary interpretation by Kropotkin of the notion of the French philosopher Al-
fred Fouillé about the transforming role of “idées-forces,” namely, “thought leading to
action.” Anarchist ideas, Kropotkin assumed, stimulate “a multitude of acts of revolt:
first, individual revolt against capital and the state; then collective revolt: strikes and
working class insurrections – both preparing, in people’s minds as in their actions, a
revolt of the masses, a revolution.”29 To this notion about the motive power of ideas
(especially the ethical ideas of solidarity, mutual aid and freedom), the theoreticians of
the FORA added the conception (drawn from Bakunin) of “revolutionary gymnastics.”
They assumed that in the course of struggling for everyday economic and moral de-
mands, the workers could re-acquire a sociality forgotten or suppressed by capitalism,
along with habits of solidarity and mutual aid. These habits, along with ideological
and cultural work, could help the exploited overcome the disconnectedness intrinsic
to existing society and the values imposed by it, thereby allowing them to break away
from the usual assumptions upon which society is based, and develop within them-
selves an understanding of the “idées-forces” of social revolution and anarchist com-
munism. The important thing was that this struggle be waged on the basis of self-
organization, direct action and self-management, without political parties and bu-
reaucrats.
Therefore the “foristas” considered a separate ideological-political organization of
anar-chists unnecessary – even harmful – and rejected both the corresponding
notions of Malatesta, and “platformism.” The very principle of division into an
anarchist associa-tion and a mass labour organization in which organized
libertarians were active, was regarded by the FORA as authoritarian and party-
oriented. “This dualism,” empha-sized Abad de Santillán during the Argentine period
of his activity (before 1930), “con-demns anarchism to impotence, because anti-
authoritarian economic organizations will never agree to being run by organizations
operating independently outside their framework and unavoidably reflecting certain
party interests.”30 The organizational model proposed by the FORA “is neither an
anarchist ‘party,’ nor a syndicalist organi-zation”; it is a labour movement which
combines a trade union form with an ideologi-cal (anarcho-communist) content.31
But what if at the moment of rising up against capitalism, the population was not suf-
ficiently under the sway of anarchist ideas, and anarchism had to co-exist with other
socio-political forces and tendencies? What if the revolution as a result was not “pure-
ly” anarchist? It’s clear that the more the social upheaval was prepared (organization-
ally or ideologically) by anarchists, the more libertarian its character would be. Well,
what if this preparation was behind schedule?
In the 1920s in anarchist circles, critical or ironic remarks were frequently directed at a
notion about social revolution prevailing in the 19th century, namely that it would take
9
the form of a decisive assault, a “Grand Soir.” Some anarchists and syndicalists actually
pushed for a “transition period” on the way to “full” anarchy, although this was in con-
tradiction with libertarian “orthodoxy.” Thus, the Russian anarcho-syndicalist Alexan-
der Shapiro as early as 1923 was writing that “a future revolution will not lead to a
complete implementation of the anarchist ideal” and immediate “full equality.” The
inevitable decline in production during the period of upheaval, the necessity of apply-
ing violent measures against enemies, and other difficulties, he believed, would give
rise to a special stage when syndicalist unions, still not encompassing the whole mass
of the population, would have to take upon themselves responsibility for administrat-
ing society; money would be temporarily retained, etc.32
The French anarcho-syndicalist Pierre Besnard distinguished between “free com-
munism” and “libertarian communism.” Social revolution, seizure of the means of
production and exchange, and liquidation of personal property still would not signify
the creation of a free communist society, he argued. This only initiates a transition pe-
riod “between the destruction of the old regime and the stabilization of the new re-
gime,” a period of “comparatively long” duration. Besnard predicted that the workers
would hesitate, run out of energy, and that progress forward would be delayed. It
would be necessary to engage in foreign trade for gold and issue national “tokens of
exchange” in units of labour time, since the population would be accustomed to mon-
ey and have faith in it. Only gradually would it be possible for this imperfect “libertari-
an communism” to develop towards the communist principle “from each according to
their abilities – to each according to their needs.”33
Ideas about the “transition period” on the road to the “full” realization of the libertari-
an ideal found an echo in the movements of other countries as well. In Spain, the
moderate wing of the CNT, the so-called “trentists,” favoured a similar position. Their
spokespersons also asserted that “introducing libertarian communism directly” was
impossible, that “a stage of syndicalism was inevitable” as “our own kind of bridge,”
when “the rule of the majority” prevailed, and unions exercised “executive power in
the fields of production and distribution.”34 Similar views were expressed by Abad de
Santillán, who arrived in Spain in the 1930s and joined the Spanish movement. He also
understood libertarian communism as a type of transition society on the path to full
anarchy (communism), initially allowing a deviation from communist principles of
distribution “according to needs” and the introduction of some kind of “means of ex-
change.” “We predict that the destruction of capitalism will be followed by a long and
difficult process,” since “age-old habits. . . cannot be overcome in one step.”35
Some anarchists, rejecting the model of a “syndicalist transition period,” adopted the
position that after the revolution a pluralist society would arise in which anarchists
would be able, with the help of free experimentation, to prove to everyone the superi-
ority of their own way of managing everyday life. Such ideas were expressed by Mala-
10
Description:They have ripped out the soul of anarchism and cast it among Characteristically, the respect for Kropotkin in anarchist circles was so great that he .. which at the moment of revolution could take the management of economic life –.
